


Push Back

by ladyoneill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Angst, BAMF Lydia Martin, Bisexual Male Character, Derek Has Issues, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek knows that he's broken, that he's no good for anyone.  Relationships don't work for him, so when he and Stiles become friends, he's content with that.  He wants more, but he won't ever push.  So, when, out of the blue, Stiles kisses him, he reacts in all the wrong ways...and pushes him away.  And keeps pushing him away, running and ignoring him until it's too late.  Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push Back

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Teen Wolf Reversebang](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/) where I got dahlia94's [wonderful art](http://dahlia94.livejournal.com/18107.html) to write for. 
> 
> The underage warning is only for the fact that Stiles is underage and Derek isn't. This fic is sadly smut free though it has a happy and hopeful ending. Set in an AU Season 3.b after Derek comes back and Scott's the Alpha. Nothing else is the same as in canon--no dark Stiles here.

When Derek drags him out of the lake, Stiles is unconscious, pale and bruised. There's a cut on his lip oozing blood, but the majority of the blood in the water and staining their clothes is from the mermaid Derek slaughtered. 

A mermaid, a fucking mermaid. Stiles tried to convince him, but it was just too Disney princess, and Derek was not in the mood for fairy tales. Not after the mess from the day before...

No, not thinking about that.

Lowering Stiles to the sandy beach, Derek presses his ear to his chest. His heartbeat is too fast and his breathing too shallow, but he's listening for water in his lungs. 

They seem clear.

Stiles shudders, but doesn't wake, and Derek, feeling the cold wind on his skin, realizes the human can easily get sick. Lifting him again, he holds him close and starts through the forest, silently cursing the fact that the lake is five miles into the Preserve from where his car is parked next to Stiles' jeep. He hurries as fast as he can without jarring the injured young man. There may not be water in his lungs, but Derek can hear broken ribs grinding together and one knee is twisted, probably dislocated.

Silently he prays that Stiles stays unconscious.

*****

Hours later, in a pair of scrubs provided for him by Ms. McCall, Derek stands in the doorway of Stiles' hospital room, watching him breathing. Although the doctors are sure he'll be fine, he hasn't regained consciousness and Derek wishes he could just will that to happen. Except for the darkening bruises, he's still so pale, the white of the hospital gown and the sheets blending with his face and arms.

The thing beat the crap out of him. Derek didn't come out the battle unscathed--the scratches on his cheek and throat bear thick bandages as they aren't healing at a normal rate. All he can figure is that there was something toxic to him on the creature's two inch long claws.

He's just grateful it didn't use them on Stiles. Derek will eventually heal. The boy has too many scars already.

"You might as well come in."

Jerked out of his thoughts, Derek looks up to meet the eyes of Stiles' dad--not the Sheriff, not as he sits slumped by his son's hospital bed, shadows in his eyes, circles bruised beneath them. When the call came, he was home, so he's in jeans and a sweater. For Derek, it's so unusual to see him as a person not an authority figure.

Hesitantly Derek enters the room and takes the second chair on the other side of the bed. His relationship with John Stilinski is uncomfortable to say the least. Since his return to Beacon Hills the second time, and finding out that the Sheriff knows all about werewolves now, they've had exactly two conversations on the subject, and each time Derek's come away feeling like a scolded child.

"So," John begins softly, "Why, when Scott left over an hour ago, taking the Pack with him, are you still here?"

The truth is not going to be kind to him, but Derek knows he can't lie to Stiles' father. He can lie to the Sheriff, but not this man. Taking a deep breath, he admits, "This is my fault."

"Scott said Stiles shouldn't have gone after the thing alone, should have waited for them to come up with a plan. Why is that your fault?"

The why makes Derek want to squirm.

~~~~~

"You think I'm weak, too human, that's why, right?" Stiles yelled as he paced across the dusty floor of Derek's loft.

"No," Derek growled, glaring at him, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm trying to be nice about this, but you have got to stop pushing it."

Stiles flushed in embarrassment and dug his hands into his hair. "You kissed me back."

"I'm only human, but I don't want you, Stiles." It was a lie but Stiles wasn't a wolf and couldn't tell. Derek _was_ attracted to him, but he wouldn't pursue it. He was too young, too...good.

The night before they'd gone for a run together, something they'd begun to do a few weeks after Derek's return. The time away, even with Cora staying behind, had been good for him. The burdens of being an Alpha were off his shoulders and he'd made as much peace as he could with the losses of Erica and Boyd. All that lent itself to making him more talkative, more amicable. He found he actually enjoyed spending time with Stiles who still could talk his ear off about anything and everything, but had also been the first to welcome him back.

While Scott reluctantly offered him a place in his Pack, Stiles was enthusiastic about his joining and being a part of their lives again, and now he knew why.

After their runs, they often returned to his place to order pizza or some other form of takeout. Stiles had taken to keeping a change of clothes there so he could shower, and both clean and relaxed from the exercise, they'd eat and watch movies or bad reality tv. Sometimes they discussed whatever supernatural event or creature had come to town, hashing over theories while downing burritos or popcorn.

Except the night before, instead of starting a discussion about the thing hanging out at the lake slashing at people, Stiles had come out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist and before Derek could even think of what to say had pressed against him and kissed him.

Yes, he'd returned the kiss, but the younger man's passion had overwhelmed him. It took a minute to regain control and push Stiles back, cut off what he was going to say.

Run.

Derek was too damn good at running, but he should have known Stiles wouldn't just let it go.

As he watched Stiles stop pacing and his face lose its animation, he felt a pang of remorse for being harsh, but this couldn't go anywhere. He wouldn't let it. "You...I...I misread the signs?"

"There were no signs, Stiles. I'm sorry if that hurts you." Derek tried to be gentle. He was actually enjoying being friends with someone for the first time in years, but he didn't want to give the boy hope for more.

"I...Yeah, okay. Sorry," Stiles muttered, as he spun around and grabbed his bookbag off the couch before heading towards the door.

For a moment, Derek wanted to stop him, make him talk--because Stiles always talked--but then he was gone, leaving behind only silence and a strange sense of loss.

~~~~~

How to answer the Sheriff's question without getting a gun pulled on him. Derek sighs to himself and rubs his tired eyes before finally going with, "He thinks I believe he's too weak to be Pack. I think he was trying to prove something to...all of us." Nearly saying 'me', he stumbles over the last and drops his eyes to his lap, wishing he wasn't so uncomfortable talking.

He isn't with Stiles.

Or, at least, he wasn't. Somehow they'd become friends.

"And why would he think that?"

That's the stickler, isn't it? Derek fights the blush, but knows the Sheriff, with his all-seeing eyes, notes it. "Sheriff..."

"I'm not the Sheriff here, Derek. I'm Stiles' father," the older man says tiredly, his fingers stroking the back of his son's hand resting in his own. Their fingers are so different, Stiles' so long and slender. Derek wonders if he got them from his mother. "You think I don't know about his crush on you?"

Nearly choking on his breath seems to amuse the other man, but then his face smoothes out and his eyebrows draw together. "Let me be clear here," he begins sternly. "My son is barely seventeen. You are a lot older. Nothing that is, at his age, illegal is going to happen between you until it's no longer illegal, understand?"

"Sheriff...Mr. Stilinski, I...I..."

"For God's sake, call me John," he huffs. "And don't hyperventilate."

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Derek forces himself under control and tries again. "I told him nothing would happen anyway. I don't...I'm sorry, but I can't..." Dammit.

"When he jokes you don't know how to use words, he's not actually joking, is he." Sighing, John rubs his free hand over his face, and Derek slouches in his chair, wanting to pout. There's just something about the man, something so...paternal.

Derek hasn't felt that directed his way in a long time.

"So, he made some kind of move and you turned him down?"

"I...yes...Maybe I should have done it more gently," he adds faintly.

"He's old enough to learn to deal with heartbreak. That might sound harsh, but he's not a shrinking violet. He'll be okay."

"He did _this_!" Derek practically yells. "Going after a psychotic creature is not the answer to being rejected. Even I know that."

Why is the Sheriff smiling at him?

"I'm going to go get some of the swill they call coffee. You stay here with him."

That's not a request. Derek slumps even farther into his chair. Somehow he's lost total control here.

Actually, he's pretty sure he never had any.

After John leaves, closing the door quietly behind him, Derek leans forward, resting his elbows on the mattress next to Stiles' hip. Watching him sleep, looking peaceful except for the darkening bruises on his face and neck, he feels the eternal guilt seep into him.

This _is_ his fault. He was too harsh. It's just...the kiss surprised him. They were friends, doing friend things. Years ago, in New York, Derek learned to ignore the arousal spikes from teenage boys. Hell, at that age, he'd felt them himself when a pretty girl smiled at him, or a slender boy brushed against him.

Not that he'll tell Stiles, because he doesn't want to give him any false hope--also he's not sure Stiles will ever talk to him again--but Derek's known for years he's bisexual. His attraction to _both_ sexes, though, is nothing he pursues. Not since the disaster of Kate which followed too soon after the loss of Paige. And then there was Jennifer... He's still not sure how that happened.

No, he doesn't do relationships. He fucks them up way too easily, which is one of the reasons his rare sexual encounters over the years since the fire have been anonymous hook-ups in clubs and bars. Getting to know the people he's attracted to is a mistake.

Which is why he's fought the attraction to Stiles for so long, and can never tell him about it.

False hope again because he will not pursue anything with the boy. Stiles deserves so much better.

The heartbeat he's been unconsciously listening to quickens and he realizes Stiles is waking. He...can't be here.

Again, Derek runs.

*****

He hears from a frowning Scott the next day that Stiles will be okay. Two broken ribs, a dislocated knee--just as he thought--a lot of bruising, but he should heal completely. They're keeping him in the hospital another day only because he has a fever probably from being in the cold water.

Derek spends the next few days blaming himself for that and avoiding the Pack.

Avoiding Stiles, who's holding court, knee in a brace, in his living room.

After another three days, Scott comes by again, looking even more disapproving.

"Are you in this Pack or not, Derek?"

Barely refraining from throwing into Scott's face the fact that he refused to join _Derek's_ Pack until he needed to use him, he grunts and gives a short nod.

"Then start showing up at training. That's what you said you'd do, after all, help train us to scent and track and fight."

"Fine, but wolves only."

Shaking his head, Scott snorts. "No. My Pack has humans in it, humans who need to know how to fight because otherwise they do stupid shit like go after killer mermaids by themselves."

"I doubt Lydia, Danny or your girlfriend will do anything like that."

Scott rolls his eyes. "Look, I don't know what the hell is going on between you and Stiles and, frankly, I don't want to know because, ick, but he won't learn from me--we're just too close, know each other's moves. He doesn't trust the twins, and Peter, no. So..."

"Have his father teach him how to shoot," Derek replies flatly.

"He already knows how to shoot. He's actually really good; he just doesn't like guns."

"Then he's an idiot."

"Well, yeah, but you know he's not going to stop. He's not going to let himself be relegated to research and training with Deaton."

Derek makes an exasperated sound. "Then bite him, Scott." At the Alpha's appalled look, he continues, "He'll make a strong wolf. I should have done it."

"Jesus, is that your answer to everything? He doesn't want to be a werewolf!"

"I'm not training him."

"Get over yourself and get your ass to your old house tomorrow after school," is Scott's retort before he storms out of the loft.

Scowling, Derek spins and gives the hanging bag a vicious kick. He's not surprised when it breaks its chain and splits open all over the floor.

*****

Not happy, Derek does show up at the ruins of the Hale House the next day--the county took it back and off the tax rolls, but no one has any interest in buying it, and the deputies stopped patrolling months ago because even the Beacon Hills' teens want to have nothing to do with a place so many people died.

After beating another bag into submission, he realized that Stiles isn't going to be any condition to fight for several weeks, so all he has to do is avoid him and work with the others. The other humans have potential--Lydia's fucking vicious; Danny's strong and agile; and Allison...well, she doesn't really need his help, nor does she want or take it.

Stiles sits on the steps of the falling down porch and watches, taking notes and shouting encouragement. Nearly two hours go by before Derek notices Stiles hasn't said a word to him. For a moment, he's befuddled, but then he realizes it's for the best, and throws himself at Isaac who yelps in surprise.

Except that it keeps happening--or not happening. Nearly two weeks later and Stiles is still ignoring him to the point that most of the Pack is giving _Derek_ pitying looks. Lydia's giving him exasperated ones and Peter pointed ones with a lot of eye rolling.

Finally, late one night while he broods at the window in his loft, his uncle slithers in and over to him.

"There are these things called lamps, Derek." The lone one is switched on and Derek flinches which makes Peter roll his eyes even harder. "You are pathetic. You're mooning over the boy."

"Go away," he growls, staring back out the window at the half moon hanging low in the winter sky.

"Let me guess. He made a move or a suggestion or simply jumped you, and you freaked out and told him no which caused him to throw himself into a mermaid's arms."

How does his uncle know these things?!

"I got him drunk and he spilled it all. He's really ticked at you, by the way. Not for rejecting him. For ignoring him."

"He's the one ignoring me."

"He told me that his dad said you were in the hospital for hours...until he woke up and you ran away. Grow up, nephew. You're supposedly an adult, though you seem to be emotionally stunted around fifteen."

"And whose fault is that?" he blazes back, spinning on his uncle and flashing his bright blue eyes.

As he smirks and tsks, Peter flashes his eyes back at him. "So easy to get a rise out of you."

"You keep saying you're weak, Peter. How about I pound your face in for you?"

"Yep, and there's the threats of violence." When Derek takes a menacing step forward, fists clenched, because hitting his uncle sounds like the best thing at the moment, Peter holds up his own hands in a placating fashion and croons, "You're not mad at me, Derek. You're mad at yourself. Why on earth did you turn the kid away?"

"Because he's a _kid_? Jesus, Peter, I'm not a pedophile!"

"For God's sake, Derek, he's seventeen, not seven. In half the states in this country and most of the rest of the world, that's legal for consent, and, what seventeen year old _man_ wouldn't consent anyway? Look, if I knew you weren't attracted to men, I'd agree with you for stopping it before it went too far, but not only are you bi, you like him. You want him. We can all fucking smell it. Well, he can't. Life would be so much simpler if he had just let me bite him," he muses.

"...What?"

"Oops."

Peter tried to turn Stiles? His Stiles?! 

With a ferocious growl, Derek throws himself on his uncle and drives him to the stone floor.

*****

A couple days later, after school has let out, Derek mans up and goes to Stiles' house. The Sheriff opens the door and gives him a frown, then steps back and to the side.

"It's about time," is all he mutters, before pointing to the stairs. "Keep the door open."

Blushing, Derek takes the stairs two at a time, then, realizing that seems too eager, slows down as he walks towards Stiles' room. As he pushes open the half-closed door, he realizes, he's never entered from this side before. Maybe he should have gone in the window this time, too, but then he doesn't want to keep things from Stiles' dad. 

"What do you want?"

The harsh tone brings him back to the room he's entered and he finds Stiles lounging on his bed, reading a comic book. Batman. Isaac had a whole box of those and spent a large part of the allowance the trustee of his dad's estate gave him on more each week.

"Is that good?"

"...Huh?" Stiles looks at the book, then frowns deeply and tosses it aside before sitting up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, careful of the one still in a brace. At least he's not using crutches anymore, or there hasn't been sight of them for the last week at training sessions. "What are you doing here? I doubt you're here to read my comics."

"I...I..." With a heavy sigh, Derek gestures to the desk chair. "May I...?"

"I guess," Stiles huffs and wraps his arms around himself. It's not cold in the room, so it's a defensive posture. Internally Derek winces as he sits down and clasps his hands loosely between his knees.

"I'm sorry."

When there's no response, Derek slowly looks up to find Stiles staring at him, open mouthed. "I mean it," he adds quickly. "I screwed up all over the place. It's just so easy for me to run. I run. It's what I do." Knowing how lame this sounds, he tries again. "I was scared of what I felt, what I wanted, so I rejected you. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I got that," Stiles replies, voice still cold and hard which makes Derek want to do something he's never done since...her.

Beg.

He fights the impulse.

"I do want you, Stiles. You're too young and I'm all wrong for you. I'm broken and fucked up and I don't want to break you and fuck you up, too, but I realized I...I can't lose you."

Again there's no response and Derek tries to meet Stiles' eyes, but the young man looks away, then slowly rises and hobbles towards the door, which he pushes wider open before stepping to the side. "You can't lose what you never had, Derek. I want you to leave."

Stunned, Derek stares at him. What? What does that mean? He...he doesn't want him anymore? Jesus, did he fuck this up so badly Stiles hates him now? Nearly whining in shock at the pain he feels, at his heart pounding in his chest, at the rushing in his ears, he stands and forces himself to move. As he passes Stiles, he tries to say something, but his tongue is tied.

Speaking never gets him anywhere good.

*****

A couple days later he's sitting backwards on the bench at the faded wooden picnic table Scott dragged from somewhere watching out of the corner of his eye as Lydia field strips several of Argent's guns, borrowed by his daughter.

The banshee is efficient, quick, and focused.

Focused on him.

Derek swallows convulsively because Lydia...bothers him. She's nothing like the girls he remembers from high school.

She's nothing like any woman he's ever known since his mother.

Scary as fuck.

"You have masterfully screwed this up," she says tightly as she jots down something on her iPad, then reaches for what looks like an Uzi. Jesus.

"Training's going well," he says through clenched teeth, purposefully missing the point.

Her eye rolling is frighteningly reminiscent of his uncle's. "Idiot."

That point he gets, but, turning to straddle the bench, he glares at her and bites back a growl, which just makes her shake her head in annoyance as she breaks down the machine gun.

"Stiles never made a move on me, did you know that?"

He didn't, but he keeps quiet, waiting to see where she's going with this.

"I knew he was infatuated with me. In the old days, when I was even more of a bitch than I am now, I reveled in it. I would never let him or anyone know that, of course, because he was so far beneath my social status, but I did enjoy it. Still, even at the dance Allison extorted me into attending with him, all he did was yell at me and get me to dance with him. It impressed me."

"He also saved your life."

"Yes, well I didn't know that for a long time. The point I'm making here, Derek, is that Stiles swore he loved me to everyone, yet when given the opportunity, and there have been many in the last several months since we've become friends, he's never even tried to kiss me. Even after I kissed him out of panic attack, he didn't make a move. I was an ideal, but not one he really wanted. When I realized that, we truly become friends, and I started to look deeper at him."

"Where are you going with this, Lydia?" Why do people have to go in circles before getting to the point? He can tolerate it with Stiles, but everyone else just irritates him.

She slams the magazine home and glowers at him. "You were back in town, what, a month? And he kissed you."

"How..."

"Oh, honey, best friends tell each other everything," she says dismissively and sets aside the gun before tapping something else into her tablet. "He told me he didn't even really give it much thought, no planning. He accepted he wanted you, thought you wanted him back, and went for it. And you rejected him, which, okay, you have the right to do, and Stiles went off and did something incredibly stupid, for which I yelled at him for a good hour, but he's not mad at you for rejecting him. He's a man, he can handle that. What's pissing him off is that you _do_ want him and you're ignoring him."

"I went to talk to him," Derek growls bitterly. "He told me to leave."

"And you left, again. You run away from everything, Derek. He pushed and you caved. That's the wrong way to deal with Stiles. You should have pushed back." Rising to her feet--on three inch stacked heels in the lumpy grass and gravel for god's sake--she picks up the machine gun and heads for the targets without a backward glance, but he can feel her disdain.

Jesus. What's she going to be like when she's an adult?

"Perfect isn't she," Peter sighs as he drops down into her vacated seat. "And so right."

Shooting his uncle a disgruntled look, Derek stalks off to find someone to punch because punching Peter, while momentarily satisfying, only leads to him bitching for days.

*****

Three days later, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, Derek takes a tight grip on his nerves, and drives to the Stilinski residence again.

And again the Sheriff opens the door to his ringing of the bell and gives him a disapproving look, but does let him in and points to the stairs. Derek's half way up them when he hears the Sheriff mutter, "If you can convince him to give you a shot, close the damn door. Even not knowing what you're up to is better than him scowling and grumbling all the time."

Not about to close the door, Derek turns bright red and has to stop and take a few leveling breaths before he continues to Stiles' room.

The young man's at his computer and at Derek's entrance, he spins around and frowns. "What?"

"We need to talk."

Stiles' eyebrows shoot up, mocking his own. "Yeah, no." He turns back to his computer but Derek notices he doesn't do anything--the screen remains the same, locked on some article.

Taking a seat on the unmade bed, Derek just starts talking.

"I want to make this right, Stiles. I fucked up so badly; I know that. I keep doing it and I need to stop, but I'm not sure how. I've...I've had two relationships in my life and they both...They ended so badly. No, that's not even it. They destroyed me." He glances up and, in the moment of silence, Stiles turns back to face him. Letting the true color of his eyes show, he watches Stiles lick his lips. At least he's listening. "When I was fifteen there was a girl named Paige. I was young and so different than I am now. The whole world was open to me and I fell in love. I...was afraid I'd lose her if she knew what I was. I was afraid she wouldn't be able to be with me as a human. I..." A lump forms in his throat, choking him. It's been so long since he thought about Paige.

And, Stiles rescues him, his voice low, even, emotionless, but...not quite. "Peter told me this. I didn't completely believe him, but he said you killed her because the bite didn't take and she was in pain."

Of course, Peter told him. The momentary blast of anger at his uncle clears his throat. "Yeah, and the guilt...the loss...it changed me. And, before I had any chance to recover, there was Kate." He's not going to explain about Kate, not now. He's pretty sure Stiles has figured out all the pertinent information anyway. The details can wait. "After, Laura and I fled across the country and we landed in New York. Even werewolves can get lost in that city. I felt dead inside for six years, Stiles, but I wasn't a monk. I knew relationships were toxic for me, or I was for them, so all I did was pick up strangers. It didn't matter what they looked like, what their name was, even if they were clean since I can't catch anything. All I cared about was that they wanted me for a few hours. I barely remember any of them. I didn't want to." Because he doesn't want to screw this up any more, Derek falls silent for a minute.

That Stiles doesn't try to fill it, worries him.

"I never planned to have anything long term. I didn't even have friends. But, then, I came back here and there was you. I could tell you were attracted to me and, if you'd been eighteen, I'd have fucked you, Stiles. It wouldn't have meant anything to me. But you were, are, just a kid, so I pushed my attraction to you away, pushed you away. I was busy trying to survive. Desire was easy to ignore, and then I left again, but when I came back..."

How to explain this?

Finally, he softly says, "We became friends and I was fine with that, with being only that. I hadn't had that since before the fire, and it felt so good."

The silence falls again until Stiles is the one to break it. "Is is just my age, Derek?"

The relief he feels is overwhelming--Stiles is talking to him. Still, Derek shakes his head and runs his hands over his face before dropping them between his legs. "No. I told you that I don't do relationships. I'm broken and I fuck everything up. For that month, I thought I could handle friendship. It was working. It was comfortable, but then..."

"I kissed you," Stiles states flatly. "And you pushed me away." Slowly Stiles' eyes widen, gleaming amber in the sunlight streaming through his window and Derek knows he's gotten to the truth. "You're scared."

Terrified.

Derek nods, and Stiles smiles. It's not a wide-open grin, not a smirk, but a tiny little smile.

"I can work with that."

"I don't know if I can, Stiles," he replies honestly.

"You've talked more in the last fifteen minutes than you have in the entire time I've known you. We'll work on all your issues. Mine, too, y'know, because I have them. I didn't exactly handle the rejection well."

Derek can't help himself; he snorts, and suddenly the tension is gone. His shoulders relax, his lips twitch, his hands unclench.

Maybe...maybe everything's going to be okay.

"Throwing myself at you, throwing myself at a killer mermaid, I tend to go all or nothing." Stiles shrugs but the smile is still hovering on his lips. "I guess...Well, I held a torch for Lydia for eight years and never did anything about it until it blew out on its own. I didn't want to do that with you, but probably talking first would have been a good idea."

"We're talking now."

"It's a miracle."

"Sarcastic little shit." But he can feel the grin wanting to break free.

More open with his emotions, Stiles does grin and rolls his chair across the floor to put him right in front of Derek who sits up straighter, so they're nearly eye to eye. "Where do we go from here? Hey, Buffy reference!"

"Ridiculous." Derek rolls his eyes but all he feels is affection.

"Yep. But, I'm serious. I don't want to push again."

"And I don't want to push you away, but there is the age difference, there are all my issues with intimacy and trust. I want us to stay friends, but I want more, too," he admits softly, feeling so vulnerable, but not quite as scared.

"I want that, too. I've been so mad because you ignored me, you rejected my friendship. I could handle just being friends, Derek, but I couldn't handle you just cutting me out of your life. I didn't react well."

"Can we just admit that we both fucked this up in different ways and to different degrees?"

Stiles nods eagerly, then reaches out one hand for Derek's, but leaves it hovering there.

Derek takes it, squeezing those long, expressive fingers, and the relief on the younger man's face makes him feel relieved as well. "I'm not sure I'm ready to jump too deeply into anything and you are still young, Stiles."

"And my dad's the Sheriff, I know. I'm a ball of hormones but I don't want to screw this up either. I've never...This would be the first relationship for me. We can take it slow," he adds in a rush.

"Slow is good." Slow he can handle, but...maybe not too slow. 

"So..." Stiles breathes out. "If I kiss you, you won't push me away?"

He recalls Lydia's advice and, feeling himself growing warm, oddly content, and just a bit eager, Derek shakes his head and murmurs, "I'll push back."

Together they lean forward and kiss.

End


End file.
